Lancer Crack Fic
by BAnder54
Summary: Stories/vignettes in which the boys are envisioned as dogs (hopefully better than it sounds), i.e. crack fic. Christmas edition 'Room at the Inn', now added. Written for the challenge, but mostly for humor ;-).
1. Git Along Little Doggies

Git Along Little Doggies

It was distracting. He could smell it, from the house. More pungent than a hot brand searing a cow's rump, more alluring than a swim in a mountain spring on a hot summer's day. At least two hundred feet away, but that was nothing.

Scott had a sharp nose and since moving to the big hacienda, the smells were ceaseless: moldy hay, foul sweat and sometimes even blood, accompanied the more muted scents of leather and tobacco, baked bread and lavender.

It was easy to get distracted, though. Cows were designed for only one purpose, to get counted then herded to the next meadow and counted again. Sometimes he counted them three times, just to be sure. As far as he was concerned, the phrase _Lancer takes care of its own_ existed to give Scott license to protect the hacienda and its occupants. He had them under constant surveillance when he wasn't driven to distraction by the cows. The small human—what was her name anyway?—was always dropping bits of bread or bites of beef outside the kitchen door. The wind would catch the scent and it would drift his way, interrupting his count.

Scott heard his name being called over and over—did they not think he heard it the first time? That these ears were just for show? He was a dog for God's sake, he heard everything. And now he'd have to start over again.

A burst of black and white came into his periphery then bounded up beside him. Scott sighed. The black patch around Johnny's eye gave him a roguish look. Accompanied by a "how ya doin'" wink, the expression was deadly to any female within twenty feet. Currently, his eyes were lit with delight, a decidedly dead squirrel hanging from his jowls.

"Hey, Scott. I did it."

The words were garbled until he slid the animal to the side of his mouth. "I got one. Ya wanna look? See? Right here. Yup, finally snagged one of those sons-of-bitches. The old man—what's his name anyway?—yelled at me for being in the house, but I caught this fluffy-tailed shit tryin' to make its way into the kitchen. Sittin' proud as you please on the sideboard, near the small human's hat. So whatchadoin'?" It could have been a serious question, if his brother hadn't been peeing on a spread of withered begonias.

Johnny caught Scott's look of disdain and hiked his leg again. "Let' er buck!" Another stream of yellow hit the flowers, square center. All flash and dazzle, that was Johnny.

"There are other places to do that, you know. Like all those blades of grass the old man owns."

Johnny shrugged and flipped an ear up, giving him a ridiculously puzzled expression. "Whatever. I like these."

"What's-her-name likes them, too. So does the old man."

"Pfft. I'm not afraid of him." He danced on his paws like a fighter, long squirrel tail jiggling back and forth with each bounce. "I'm a lot faster than he is."

The squirrel stared at Scott with glassy yellow eyes from its horizontal flop over Johnny's back molars. Disconcerting to say the least. There was something wrong, but Scott couldn't put his paw on it. "Spit it out," he challenged.

Johnny looked at Scott, his head tilted to the side. Just a little movement, but it said a lot.

"Spit. It. Out."

Johnny's eyebrows met above his eyes. "Try me" was the expression. He smiled and clutched the prize between his teeth, growling. Bits of saliva clung to the squirrel's fur and spattered the ground. "Why? You gonna count it?"

Scott was having none of it. He bunched to jump and that's when he heard the small one screech.

"Murdoch! He has my new fur stole!"

So _that_ was his name. Wait until they saw the begonias.

The End

2012


	2. Room at the Inn

Room at the Inn

Scott had no idea where the stick had gone. He always thought they would taste better than they did. The small one had his number, all right. He fell for it every single time.

Johnny trotted up. "What happened to you?"

"The small one and her stick."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"Who knew she had an arm? Lobbing it past the corral like that." And now it was God knows where and he'd have to find it, because that's just what he did. "She's all yours next time."

"Huh. You know I don't like my fun organized. Besides, there's bigger stuff brewing."

"We're allowed in the pastures again?" They'd been persona non grata ever since Johnny's less than stellar foray into the hacienda. He had to give his brother some credit because the thing _did _look like a squirrel, but the dead begonias had compounded the issue and now they were assigned to perimeter checks, twice an hour. With not a cow in sight. He idly wondered who was counting them.

"No, bigger than that. You ever hear of someone called 'Santa Claus'? Or somethin' called 'Christmas'?"

He shook his head to both, and already had a bad feeling about where the conversation was going.

"I was listening to them talk by the corral earlier. Tonight is Christmas Eve and this fella Claus is comin' to give out coal.

"So?"

"So I can't see the old man would want anyone pokin' around the house and dropping off clumps of rock."

"It's, uh…" Scott sat, knew he was in for it. He never should have let the small one throw that first stick. Couldn't be helped, he supposed.

"What? Lancer protects their own, right?" Johnny turned, eyes gleaming in the slanting light. Anticipation, God help him.

So they watched from their place in the barn until the day was gone from the sky and the medium-sized one, backlit from the kitchen, struggled with the trash bin outside the door. Johnny threw him a look and he knew what his brother was thinking: opportunity. But not tonight. Tonight was a night made for bigger things.

Scott didn't know how long it was before they heard the scraping noise of feet—from right outside.

"It's Santa Claus," Johnny growled out. They stood on either side of the doorway, waiting. Finally, the door swung open. It was show time.

He knew it was wrong the minute he had a mouthful of boot leather. Johnny's eyebrows quirked together in one furry line and he let go of the pants leg he'd been so happily pulling on as the big one twisted around and tripped into the barn. A 'what the hell' was muffled when he slid into a bale of hay.

And then came the confusing part. Another smell, so near it was maddening. He went down on his haunches, could sense danger approaching the house. The big one, all breathy, was no less watchful, one hand on the raised hairs along Johnny's shoulders and spine.

And they were fast, making a beeline run for the hacienda. Fast enough that when the wiggly shadow beside the window finally looked up, they were already there. Like a big noisy squirrel, and they had no love for squirrels.

One leap then two and Johnny was on top of it. Scott twisted out of the way as a shot sailed past his left ear, close enough that he felt the heat. He went for it and took a long, deep bite. The thing howled. Excellent. Drop it. And something heavy fell to the ground.

The big one came silent on his feet, then called out the alarm in a booming voice.

~o~o~o~

"Johnny, not there!" His brother had two paws on the sturdy-looking couch.

"Pffft. Why not? I'm makin' the best of it." And he gracefully jumped up, did two turns and laid down.

Johnny had a point, as the big one told them their stay in the hacienda was for one night only, then back to the barn. But Scott much preferred the soft rug beside the fire. Large enough to stretch out and never touch the floor. He nosed it a bit and did his turns, then laid down with a satisfied groan.

The big one stood in the doorway, watching. A curious look was on his face.

"Merry Christmas, boys." He turned to where Johnny was buried amongst the cushions and pointed. "Don't get too used to it, buster." Like his brother needed reminding, but the big one's voice was softer than Scott had ever heard it, no real threat there.

Johnny smarmed, raising his eyebrows in a look that Scott knew his brother thought conveyed innocence.

The big one shook his head and blew out the lamp, leaving them bathed in firelight and the smell of home. A most comforting place to be.

"Hey, Scott?" It was said around a yawn and all he could see of Johnny was one black ear sticking up above the fringed pillow.

"What?"

"Merry Christmas."

"The same to you, brother, the same to you." He yawned himself and stretched out his long legs, paws towards the hearth, getting delicious bites of heat. They never met that Claus fellow—perhaps next year—but thanks for job done well done and a spot by the warm fire was Christmas enough.

The End

Dec 2014


End file.
